The Milk Issue
by ConsiousCare
Summary: We all know how Sherlock gets when he gets bored. So when there has barely been any cases the last month and he have been annoying John to death, what will be the last drop?


**AN: _Hi guys! I was in class the other day, with no motivation to pay attention and this popped up. Just a little Johnlock!Friendship story. Uhm, yeah. Obviously Sherlock is not mine, so._**

_And by the way! If you should be interested in more of my writing (in addition to other fanfictions) my book is for sale here: / 73sqq8s_

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"Sherlock! We're out of milk again!" An annoyed sigh came from the couch, where the man in question was laying on his back, playing with one of the cuffs of his shirt.

"I am aware, John. I used the last of it for my experiment this morning," Sherlock replied in a somewhat careless voice. Oh, right. This was probably a dull conversation from his point of view. John on the other hand, could not believe that Sherlock had, once again, used the last of the milk to something as stupid as one on his experiments. Now what was he supposed to do about his tea? He absolutely could not stand to drink it without milk, but a trip to the shop to get some more was not going to happen until he's gotten his first cup of the day. He did, usually, prefer his coffee with milk, but even plain black coffee was better than tea without milk.

John made his way from the living room where he had only to come out to inform Sherlock about the lack of milk in the household. He wasn't even sure why he bothered anymore, he concluded as he rubbed his eyes. It had been a quiet last month, which apparently had Sherlock bored out of his mind. A bored Sherlock meant sleepless nights for John. His flatmate was absolutely infuriating when bored. If he did not experiment on whatever he could find around the flat, he spent his time either shooting the wall or playing his violin.

While John was usually a great fan of Sherlock's violin playing, he preferred for it not to be at 3 am in the morning. The detective was quite a talent when it came to the instrument, but when he was bored enough the melodies often turned into nothing more than furious rubbing of the strings. And it never seemed to end. John really did wonder some times, if the man ever slept at all, because it certainly did not seem like it. It never seemed like he ate either. Every time they had a case it had come to be John's responsibility to stuff food into his moth and make sure they he swallowed. How Sherlock had not died from lack of food before John came into his life, John was not quite sure of. He was, however, sure that he could never leave the other man again no matter how carelessly he spent the milk, or he would most certainly never eat again.

Upon reentering the kitchen, he made his way over to the cupboard where the jar of coffee was situated. Or where the jar was supposed to be situated. That was one thing about sharing a flat with Sherlock. Nothing was ever where they were supposed to be. He always found other thing to put in those places and moved the original occupiers to a spare place somewhere else. That was how John one time found his toothpaste in the fridge and a jar of eyeballs in the cabinet in the bathroom.

As he was fully aware of this side of his flatmate, John was not to surprised when the coffee was not to find in it's usual place. Instead of what he was searching, he found a jar of something that, a little too closely, resembled human ears and the last of the milk. The people are not many who would not immediately have backed up or even ran away upon seeing such a jar in the kitchen cabinet. That is if they, as John, knew for sure that it actually was real human ears. John, on the other hand, closed the door to the cabinet once more and continued searching the kitchen of the jar he was looking for.

When Sherlock moved such trivial things as the coffee jar, John was used to finding it almost immediately, but this time he did not. Actually he kept on looking for a good twenty minutes, before he once again rubbed his eyes. He did not like to admit defeat, but during his search it dawned upon him that he might be just as well of doing so. The fact that Sherlock had managed to move it to such a strange location that he did not manage to find it, angered him. It was one of those things that really made him want to yell at the other man. This was not a rare urge, but despite that he had never acted upon it. That was mostly because he knew it would not make any difference. Sherlock would probably give a sarcastic resort or even laugh at him, before going back to being bored. Gods, could that man be infuriating some times.

However, when he had been offered to share a flat with Sherlock, John had been told that he was not quite like other people. Now that he had gotten to know the genius, he knew that he would never have lived together with any other person. Over the course of the last months they had become best friends, no matter their differences. He had actually come to care a great deal about the other man and all of the quirks that came with him. They'd had their share of fun together and John would have to admit, a life with Sherlock was certainly not a boring one, even if Sherlock himself was bored practically all the time.

"John," hearing his name from the doorway made John look up. Seeing his flatmate standing there should probably not have been such a surprise as he had heard the voice, but knowing Sherlock's resentment towards raising from the couch or his chair, John still was surprised. It also made his wary. What was wrong? There had to be something wrong. As he searched the man's face, however, he found nothing but a smile. This puzzled him even more. Looking the other man up and down he could not find any other signs of anything wrong. However, that object in his hands. John sought it out with his eyes once soon spoke again, and that little sentence of his combined with the object he was holding made John's face erupt in a smile just as bright as his flatmate's.

"I bought a new bottle of milk,"


End file.
